


my heart beats for you, so listen close

by starcanopus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Human, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Stiles, Romance, because imagine derek in scrubs and a white coat good fucking bye, doctor!derek, said with affection, stiles and derek are just a couple of dumb dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 11:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcanopus/pseuds/starcanopus
Summary: Scott looks a little bit like he wants to die now and Dr. Hale is outright glaring at him, but Stiles presses on, undeterred. “You ever seen Grey’s Anatomy? Because let me tell you, Dr. Derek Hale, Derek Shepherd has nothing on you. McDreamy and McSteamy combined have nothing on you. Combined. Nothing.”orAU in which Stiles suffers a concussion and really shouldn't be held accountable for the repercussions





	my heart beats for you, so listen close

_my heart beats for you, so listen close_

The first time Stiles meets Derek Hale, he’s just suffered a head injury but doesn’t know it so really, he shouldn’t be held accountable for the hot, sizzling mess of a situation that follows.

The man who steps around the curtain meets all the criteria of tall, dark, and handsome and he’s _just perfectly_ Stiles’s type, and Stiles nearly has to remind himself to breathe. There’s a five-o'clock shadow decorating the bottom half of the man’s face. A _painfully_ good-looking—if not just a tad bit grumpy—face. The man looks up from the chart he’s holding and casts Scott a cursory glance before his gaze lands on Stiles. Or more specifically, the rather bloody lip laceration that decorates Stiles’s mouth. There’s a strange beat of hesitation, like the man doesn’t expect to see Stiles sitting there.

“Mr. Stilinski.” The doctor flips the chart closed and pulls up a stool, his free hand flattening his lanyard to his torso so it doesn’t swing out as he sits. Stiles tries not to think about how much that simple motion affects him. He also definitely does _not_ try to catch a glimpse of the man’s ass, perfectly fitted in dark blue scrubs, as he takes a seat. Ok, so maybe he looks. Just a little bit. “My name is Dr. Hale, I’ll be treating you today.”

“Wonderful.” Stiles chirps, maybe a little too cheerfully, from the strange look he gets from Scott.

“Mind telling me what happened?” Dr. Hale pulls on a pair of latex gloves from a box lying on the table and takes out a small package that seems to be sutures and…holy god, that’s not a needle is it? Stiles blinks, feeling a bit nauseous. He’s not sure if it’s from the blow to his head or his extreme aversion to needles anymore.

“Yeah…that…Jackson, that _asshole_ , decked me with a fucking lacrosse stick and basically catapaulted me straight into the _ground_ , seriously, what kind of fraternity allows shitty lizardmen like him in, and all because I…I…”

Dr. Hale looks up from where he’s tearing open an alcohol pad and looking back, Stiles can pinpoint that it’s at that specific moment, when Stiles meets the doctor’s gaze head on, that everything goes spiraling downhill from there.

“ _Fuck_ , you have beautiful eyes.” Stiles sighs, slumping in his seat. They really are beautiful. They’re a soft green with flecks of rust dusting the irises, like the green after a harsh winter and Stiles could get lost in them, he really could.

The eyes in question widen imperceptibly and the doctor’s lips part in mild surprise for a heartbeat before a stoic expression clamps back in place.

“Stiles!” Scott yelps, seizing Stiles’s arm with one hand tightly. “I’m so sorry, that was very inappropriate of him, he’s normally not like this.”

“No, I mean it, Scott.” Stiles nearly sobs, gesturing wildly at Dr. Hale. Something needs to be done about this man, like _yesterday. “_ Look at them. And his cheekbones, seriously, who sculpted you, _Aphrodite_?”

He swears that the doctor’s cheeks darken a little, which is really _fucking_ cute, but later Stiles just chalks it up to this brief psychotic break of his.

“Did his head hit the ground?”

Stiles notices that the man’s attention is no longer on him but on Scott instead. That shouldn’t be happening.

“What? Oh, I…I don’t know. He fell backwards but I don’t think his head hit the ground. He’s been talking less than usual though, I think. And he goes on more tangents.”

“ _This_ is less than usual?” Stiles frowns. He feels like that’s supposed to be an insult of some kind. “You should have let the nurse know straight away.”

Scott looks like someone just kicked his puppy but Stiles can’t find it in his heart to hate the good doctor for it.

“Sorry, Dr. Hale.”

“No, _no_ , Scott!” Stiles reaches out a hand to tangle it into the lanyard hanging around Dr. Hale’s neck and tugs on the badge attached at the end, peering down curiously. The movement jolts the doctor in his seat and brings the man’s face closer to Stiles’s. Something flutters in his chest. “It’s Dr. _Derek_ Hale.”

Scott looks a little bit like he wants to die now and Dr. Hale is outright glaring at him, but Stiles presses on undeterred. “You ever seen Grey’s Anatomy? Because let me tell you, Dr. Derek Hale, Derek Shepherd has nothing on you. McDreamy and McSteamy combined have _nothing_ on you. Combined. Nothing.”

Stiles kind of wants to reach out both hands and push those cheeks up into a smile. Stiles wonders what the man would look like with a smile.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Stilinski. But what I do suspect is that you may have a mild concussion.” Dr. Hale extracts himself from Stiles’s grip and reaches up with the alcohol pad, wiping gently at the blood on Stiles’s lip, the movement completely at odds with the dark look—or is that his normal expression?—on his face. “I’ll get this stitched up first before I deal with that.”

And then the doctor whips out a syringe with what he says is lidocaine, some type of local anesthetic, but all Stiles sees is the shiny needle and goes a little faint and Scott has to hold him up while it’s injected into his lip (“sorry doc, he’s got this thing about needles”). All he remembers from his half-conscious state is the soft dusting of fingers against his face and a strange tugging feeling in his lower lip.

When he comes to right after any remaining needles are out of sight, he’s asked immediately, “Can you tell me your full name, Mr. Stilinski?”

It’s a good question. Stiles racks his brain. “…Miec…Micky…Saw? Give me a second, I know this.”

“Don’t bother.” Dr. Hale takes out a pen-like thing from the pocket of his white coat and clicks it. A beam of light comes out the other end and the man holds up a finger in front of Stiles's face. It's a very nice finger. “Look at my finger.”

“Absolutely.” Stiles bobs his head vigorously, which probably doesn’t do wonders for the throbbing in his skull. “I will look at you forever. I mean, for however long you want me to.”

“Hold _still_.” Dr. Hale grits out through his teeth, lifting the pen light to shine it into Stiles’s eyes. After a few seconds, the light is clicked off again and the man swivels in the stool to face Scott. “He has a mild concussion.”

The doctor rattles off a list of tips—getting rest, taking time off activities, avoiding sports—and then nearly springs away as if he’s all too glad to get away from Stiles.

“Scotty,” Stiles sighs dreamily as he watches Dr. Hale stride away. “I think I’m in love.”

“…I think it’s time you got some rest, buddy.”

* * *

When the last remaining symptoms of his concussion fade, Stiles is just left with an overwhelming amount of mortification for the next few weeks, having heard his every word repeated back to him in no small amount of detail from an overly gleeful Scott.

Which is why when he’s picking up an early shift at the campus coffee shop where he works part-time and looks up at the jangle of the door bell to see three white coats enter, one particular doctor looking more and more familiar, Stiles almost squats down behind the register to hide. But he resists the urge and just edges to the side, hoping that his usual social invisibility applies here.

It doesn’t. Probably because he’s the only employee at the register. And probably because it’s 6:30 AM and ninety-percent of the university population is still asleep so he and two others are the only people in the coffee shop.

“Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles twitches. And looks up into the eyes of the doctor that he’d apparently waxed poetic about. Well. At least Concussed Stiles must have good taste, because honestly? He probably would wax the same exact fucking poetic now that he’s fully functioning and can take in every detail of the man’s face. Scott could suck his dick because Stiles wouldn’t take back a single thing he’d said. Except for maybe the part where he’d said it all out loud. “Er…hi, Dr. Hale. You…remember me.”

He stuffs one hand into his jeans pocket awkwardly and wishes that maybe he had picked something other than plaid and a red beanie to wear today. All three people in front of him are stunning, looking more like runway models than physicians. Jesus. Stiles really needs to get laid soon because this is getting a little out of hand.

“And who’s _this_?” The female doctor standing next to Dr. Hale is stunning, dark blonde curls tossed over one shoulder and lips painted a tempting, bright red. “Derek, what an _adorable_ student. You are an undergrad, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded, flailing out an arm gratefully for the interruption, however awkward it is. “Fourth year.”

The woman opens her mouth to say something else, but Dr. Hale shoots her a sharp look, which seems quite effective in shutting her up. Stiles feels like he’s missing something. When he turns his gaze back on Stiles, he likes to imagine that the look in the man’s eyes softens just a tad. One could dream.

“…How are you feeling?”

Stiles fidgets uncomfortably, having expected the conversation to veer onto That Situation at one point or another. He replies, “Great. I’m great. Fantastic!”

The two doctors that Stiles doesn’t know exchange amused looks and he wants dearly to burrow into the ground and disappear. He really wishes Dr. Hale would just have mercy on him and leave, like the way he’d been all too eager to in their last meeting, but alas, Stiles has never been quite that lucky.

“I’ll take a grande coffee. Black.” Dr. Hale pulls out his wallet and hands Stiles a credit card.

The other two doctors order as well, the female doctor (“call me Erica, darling”) winking at him and asking for a big heart drawn in the foam of her order. Snippets of the three’s conversation drifts over to him as Stiles makes their orders. It sounds like they’re gossiping about someone named Isaac at one point and then their voices dip lower and Stiles swears that he feels three pairs of eyes on him. And then there’s a loud giggle from Erica which is followed promptly by Dr. Hale growling at her to shut the fuck up.

Stiles chews on his lip and his brows furrow, trying not to think about what the doctors might be saying about him as he finishes off the foam heart with a small flourish. When Stiles looks back up, his heart skips a beat to find Dr. Hale staring at his lips intensely. Probably looking to see how well his suturing work has been. The stitches had been perfect. Stiles had pulled them out a few weeks ago and there’s only a faint lightening of skin to indicate anything had happened at all.

“Your order, Dr. Hale.” Stiles pushes the three completed coffees onto the counter in front of him.

“Derek.”

Stiles blinks. “What?”

The man’s forehead creases. Great. He’s probably pissing off the doctor again, two interactions in a row. Stiles’s shoulders slump. “Call me Derek. First-year resident. It’s a little weird to hear you call me Dr. Hale outside of the hospital.”

“Right!” Stiles blurts out, nodding. “I’m...Stiles.”

“I know.” A small smirk quirks up on Dr. Ha—Derek’s lips as he picks up the other two coffees and hands them to his colleagues behind him. “But do you remember your full name now?”

Stiles flushes, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. “Yeah, I do actually. Listen, about that…I’ve been informed that maybe I was out of line with the…things that I said. I wanted to apologize, I’m not normally a creep, well…that much of a creep so—”

“It’s fine.”

“—if you could hold off on any lawsuits that would really help a dude out…wait, what?”

Derek lifts the drink to his lips and Stiles can’t help but stare at the man’s hand and trace his eyes up a vein that disappears into the doctor’s sleeve. He ignores Stiles’s rambling and grunts, “What’s your major?”

Stiles is more than a little surprised that Derek is still standing here talking to him, considering that his two colleagues are now glancing over at them more frequently and looking at their watches. “Uh, forensic science.”

Dark eyebrows go up. “That must be interesting. What are you hoping to do with that?”

“FBI.” Stiles answers without hesitation, hands beginning to wave as the conversation moves towards something he’s more comfortable with. “My dad’s in law enforcement and I’ve always had an eye for details and analysis, so that career path is something I’ve always wanted to go down.”

“Glad to see someone be so passionate about something.”

Stiles gapes. Either he’s not completely well from his concussion yet or Derek— the doctor he had probably sexually harassed verbally when he was half conscious—is actually _smiling_ at him right now. Stiles just barely manages to stammer out, “Um…thanks.”

“Derek.” The doctor standing next to Erica breaks the awkward silence that settles over the two and jerks his head towards the doorway, declaring, “Rounds are starting soon.”

“Coming, Boyd.” Derek tips his cup at Stiles. “Good to see you again, Stiles.”

Only when the three finally exit the shop, Erica throwing a wink back at Stiles before being manhandled out the door by Derek, does Stiles finally let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“Oh my _god.”_

* * *

“Scotty, I’m taking a hit out on myself,” Stiles groans, burying his head into one of the couch’s throw pillows. “Please shoot me. Put me out of my misery, I beg of you.”

“That can be arranged.” Scott replies, clinking his beer against Stiles’s unopened one. Traitor. “I’ll talk to Allison about it. What sort of arrow would you prefer?”

Stiles screams into the pillow.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you?”

Stiles flips over and kicks his feet in the air, wriggling furiously, trying to find a comfortable position in vain. He feels itchy all over and reminds himself to take his meds later—Scott had been in charge of those for his concussion days and now Stiles really needs to get back on track himself. He huffs and sits back up, raking a hand through his hair before looking at Scott. “You remember the doctor who treated my lip?”

Scott nearly snorts beer out of his nose as he laughs, “Stiles, I will _never_ forget the doctor who treated your lip. How could I? Sculpted by Aphrodite herself, did you say?”

“Shut up,” snaps Stiles, cheeks growing warm. He drags a palm down his face and sighs miserably, “he was at the coffee shop today.”

Scott fumbles with his drink and whips his head around to stare at Stiles with an expression that Stiles doesn’t quite like. It’s one that seems to be enjoying his pain. “Shit, _really_? What did he say to you?”

“ _Nothing_. Well, he asked how I was feeling but that’s it.” Stiles flops back down on the couch and swings an arm across his eyes to block out the ceiling light. “But other than the fact that I’m pretty sure I’ve become something of doctor gossip, nothing. No restraining order or harassment suit.”

Scott frowns. “So what’s your damage?”

“He’s so _hot_ —”

“Christ, Stiles.”

“—and I can’t believe I said all those things in front of him.” Stiles whines. “In another life, that man is someone I would probably be pining after. Lydia 2.0, college edition.”

“That’s no one’s fault but your own, Stiles.”

Stiles removes his arm from his eyes and glowers at the ceiling. “I should kill Jackson for beating the filter off my mouth.”

“Stiles, buddy, dude. You don’t _have_ a filter.”

He does kind of have a point there.

* * *

Stiles is beginning to realize that he has a bit of a problem. A problem in the shape of one Dr. Derek Hale.

Because suddenly Derek is _everywhere_.

The resident has become Stiles’s personal Baader–Meinhof phenomenon now, standing out so loudly from the rest of the campus crowd. He’s at the coffee shop every day, though Stiles could swear up and down that he’s never seen the doctor around before. He’s at the gym looking all perfect lifting weights or running on the treadmill on the few days that Stiles works up the motivation to work out. He’s in the parking lot of the hospital which the building where the lab Stiles volunteers at shares.

That’s not the worst part though.

The worst part is that Stiles starts paying _attention_. And he’s pretty sure he’s falling head over heels for Derek Hale. Probably ungracefully too, at that.

He watches as Derek jogs past the coffee shop in the mornings, broad shoulders glistening with sweat. He catches glimpses of Derek’s smile sometimes when the man is talking to Erica. An obscenely attractive smile that, really, shouldn’t be giving Stiles heart palpitations but what can he do when he sees those little bunny teeth peeping through the man’s lips? He sees Derek get down on one knee to place a bandage with cartoons on it— _cartoons_ , Stiles is halfway convinced at this point that the man is not _real—_ on a little girl who trips across the street.

And maybe Stiles indulges his inner creep by googling Derek, reading all about what the doctor had done in his undergrad, what he’d done during his gap year before medical school, and Stiles falls a little bit more in love with each passing day.

He thinks to himself that underneath the dark eyebrows and grumpy expressions, Derek Hale is more like a soft, overgrown puppy. Not that Stiles would ever admit this out loud because the man’s eyebrows already look like they want to kill him and stuff his body into a garbage can or something. He can see right through Derek’s tough exterior though, and wants nothing more than to work up the courage to say something like, “Hey, want to grab dinner sometime?”

But the only problem is that every time Stiles meets Derek’s eyes, the doctor frowns slightly like he’s trying to figure something out and Stiles loses any courage he might have worked up, thinking that maybe Derek isn’t so forgiving after all and really is supremely annoyed by Stiles. The conversations they do have are short and do nothing but make Stiles’s heart beat even faster for the doctor, and he probably makes a fool out of himself every single time.

So Stiles eventually resigns himself to the fact that Derek Hale is a pipe dream and he’ll only be able to ogle the impossibly hot and kind doctor from afar.

Just his luck.

* * *

Midterms ends rather anticlimactically for Stiles, but it still calls for celebration, especially since he’d been hunched up at his computer for nights on end studying and _not_ going out.

The bar that Scott drags him too is significantly less seedy than the ones they’d gone to in the past. In fact, it’s actually really nice and is the sort of bar that broke undergrads _don’t_ go to. Large, glowing letters spell out ‘THE DEN.’ Low beats of catchy music come drifting out of the building as the two friends near it.

Stiles opens his mouth and asks, “Dude, where _are_ we?”

“Allison said she and a few friends are hanging out here this evening and invited us to join. I think there’s some guy who just joined her archery club and another dude who her aunt used to date or something?” Scott shrugs. They both look left and right before crossing the road. “She said it was a disaster and weird at first, but she’s good friends with the guy now.”

He should have known. It’s not a party if Stiles isn’t awkwardly third-wheeling while Allison and Scott make goo-goo eyes at each other. Stiles grumbles, “You’re just going to make sure those guys know Allison is taken.”

“Dude!” protests Scott. “Not cool. Okay, so maybe you’re right though.”

“I’m always right.”

Scott gives him a dirty look.

When they enter the bar, a very warm and inviting ambience beckoning them in further, Scott immediately locates Allison from across the room and makes a beeline towards her. Stiles narrows his eyes though, because there’s something very familiar about three people in the group who have their backs to the entrance and so are facing away from Stiles and Scott.

The growing dread in the pit of his stomach is confirmed when they draw close and Allison spots them, beaming.

“Scott! Stiles!”

Shit.

Because standing in front of them now are none other than Derek, Erica, and Boyd. A curly-haired man Stiles doesn’t recognize is standing next to Allison and there’s another gorgeous, dark-haired woman standing by Derek’s side, one hand curled around his arm and Stiles’s stomach sinks a little further. A girlfriend, then. He should have known. There’s no way someone like Derek Hale would be single and be waiting for someone like _Stiles_ to show up or anything. Not that Stiles has spent an ungodly amount of time thinking about that or anything.

When Derek’s head turns, the man stares at Stiles in shock, eyes sweeping over him in a way that makes Stiles grow warm.

Scott freezes and sends Stiles an apologetic look, to which Stiles can’t do anything but mutter darkly, “Dude, I am going to _murder_ you. In your _sleep_.”

“Did you say Stiles?” Derek’s girlfriend whirls around suddenly and grins, a somewhat predatory look crossing her face. “ _This_ is Stiles?”

Derek glowers at the woman standing beside huffing out a sigh, removing his arm from her clutch. He sweeps a hand towards Stiles and introduces, “Stiles, this is my sister Laura. She’s an attending at the hospital. Laura, Stiles.”

Stiles has no time to be relieved about that piece of information. An…attending physician? He feels a little faint. Holy god, he’s probably going to get sued. What sister would stand by idly and listen to her little brother getting verbally molested by a patient? From the knowing smile on her face, she probably knows all about what had happened. Stiles is reluctantly thinking that Derek’s not such a good guy after all. The coffee shop incident and the situation currently unfolding are only confirming Stiles’s suspicions that Derek is probably having a good laugh about Stiles’s unfortunate incident with everyone he knows.

The room is growing unbearably warm for Stiles and something lodges in his throat as he takes in the way all of Derek’s friends are looking at him, like they know something he doesn’t. He vaguely hears Scott ask something like, “Am I missing something?”

But Stiles doesn’t stick around long to hear the response to his friend’s question because he mutters some excuse about getting a drink and escapes to the bar, hands gripping the counter. Fuck. This was supposed to be a night to unwind and _not_ think about how unfair the world, by throwing Derek Hale at him, is.

“Stiles.”

He turns to see Derek standing behind him awkwardly, one hand rubbing at his neck as he doesn’t quite meet Stiles’s gaze. He’s wearing a grey Henley with the sleeves rolled up and black jeans. If Stiles isn’t so upset with him, he’d probably be drooling all over Derek. A dark flush creeps up Stiles's neck at the traitorous thoughts and he tries to ignore the uncomfortable feeling twisting at his stomach.

Stiles flails internally. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering…there’s a movie…” Derek stumbles over his words for an excruciatingly long moment before finally blurting out, “Do you want to go to the movies with me?”

And that’s the last straw.

“Look, I get it, man!” Stiles lashes out angrily, ignoring how Derek’s eyes go wide. He gesticulates wildly, desperately trying to get his point across. “I’m sorry about the things that I said, but I really didn’t mean them and you should _know_ that because you were the fucking doctor. And I’ve said sorry before so _please_ stop _doing_ this to me!”

“I…what?” Derek asks. Stiles can see his sister and Erica looking over and frowning, but he couldn’t care less.

“Stop talking about me behind my back and…” Stiles pushes a hand through hair hair angrily and insists, “Just _please_ stop showing up in front of me like this. It's...not funny and it really _sucks_ , dude.”

There’s no time to register the look of hurt that crosses Derek’s face because Stiles is already out the door, sucking in deep breaths of the nighttime air in a desperate attempt to suppress the anxiety welling up inside of him. Stiles leans back against the cool brick wall, tilting his head up and staring up at the winking stars above him.

It’s a good five minutes before the door to the building opens again and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut. He hopes dearly that it’s Scott, checking up on him. Of course, Stiles also really ought to remember how rarely his wishes come true.

“There’s a reason that Derek’s end goal is surgery, you know?”

Stiles starts, head jolting down from where it had been resting against the wall. Erica is standing in front of him, arms crossed and looking a little more than pissed off.

“What?”

Erica sighs and joins him by leaning against the exterior of the bar. They both gaze off into the distance at the glittering skyscraper lights that imbue the city with a buzzing energy. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and there’s a pause before she continues, “What I mean is that there’s a reason why Derek would prefer to be holding a scalpel in an operating room, treating patients who aren’t conscious. He’s not…good with people.”

“I…” Stiles chews on his lower lip. “Why are you telling me this?”

Erica rolls her eyes and bumps his shoulder with hers. “Derek hasn’t had many relationships. Only two actually. And both of them really tore him down. So I’m telling you, he’s _really_ not good at this.”

Stiles stares at her, not comprehending. “At…?”

“Oh my god. I’m surrounded by idiots.” Erica throws her hands up, exclaiming, “He has a _massive_ crush on you, Stilinski!”

Stiles nearly chokes on his own saliva. “ _What?_ No he doesn’t.”

“Uh, yes he _does._ Imagine my surprise when one day, my best friend who hasn’t dated in _years_ , comes to me, with excitement in his eyes that I also haven’t seen in _years_.” Stiles goggles at Erica but she pays no attention to his hanging jaw, and instead continues blowing his mind.

“He tells me about this little barista that he’s been eyeing, a really _cute_ barista who he sees sometimes in a coffee shop when he takes a morning jog around the block. Who he sees occasionally in the library studying with his roommate. He’s witty and kind and _insanely_ smart. And then said barista shows up in the ER one day with an injury on his pretty lips and sporting a nasty concussion and _flirts_ with him.” Erica waves her arms around and Stiles thinks absently that this is probably the most animated she’s been this evening. “So Derek asks me what he should do because he’s losing his mind thinking about those freaking lips that he got to touch, and I drag him to the coffee shop to see who exactly has been hanging my best friend’s moon and stars. And I say, ‘Go for it, _woo_ him’ even though he really shouldn’t have to because have you _seen_ Derek? But apparently his dumb idea of wooing was buying coffee every day to talk to you—though not even about his feelings mind you—even though he doesn’t _drink_ coffee. So here I am.”

Erica is panting a little and her eyes have taken on a bit of a crazed sheen, if you asked Stiles, but he’s paying more attention to the fact that Erica had just said that Derek _likes_ him.

Stiles’s mouth is still hanging open before he realizes and snaps it shut, kicking off the wall and turning sharply to face the entrance again.

“Stiles.” Erica calls out and Stiles halts in his mad dash to throw a questioning glance over his shoulder at her. Her smile is soft but firm and Stiles understands why Derek is friends with her. She’s fiercely protective and loyal and Stiles is suddenly glad that Derek has a friend like her.

“Treat him right.”

When he wrenches the door open, nearly knocking himself off his feet which earns an exasperated sigh from Erica, Stiles searches the bar wildly until he sees Derek sitting in the far corner, nursing a beer with his sister next to him, a hand on his shoulder. He looks so dejected, shoulders slouched to the point that Stiles feels like a _complete_ asshole.

When he skids to a halt in front of the two, Derek’s sister looks up and shoots him a sharp look. She opens her mouth and is probably about to tell him to fuck off, but he can’t have that.

“You don’t even drink coffee?” Stiles blurts out. He immediately wants to hit himself in the face with a lacrosse stick now, maybe Jackson’s here somewhere and could do him a favor, because how are _those_ the first words that come out of his mouth?

Derek’s head snaps up and a second later, the resident is standing, back straight as a plank as he stares at Stiles nervously. “Stiles.”

“You…” Stiles twists his hands in his sweatshirt and tries to ignore his quickening heartbeat. “It wasn’t a joke?”

“What?” Derek looks confused and then finally seems to realize, shaking his head so quickly and earnestly that Stiles melts a little on the inside. “No, I would _never_ …”

And he’s probably about to say something else but that was all Stiles needed to hear and he’s fisting a hand in Derek’s Henley, yanking the doctor forward to press his lips against Derek’s in a desperate kiss. Derek makes a low grunt of surprise that really shouldn’t affect Stiles’s body the way it is. The kiss is a little clumsy and Stiles nearly trips over himself stepping closer, but then one of Derek’s hands settles on his hip, the other coming up to cup the back of Stiles’s head to deepen the kiss.

Stiles is a little breathless when he breaks away for air as he gazes into Derek’s green eyes. He hears a high pitched giggle and some deeper whooping off in the distance but all Stiles can really focus on at the moment is the reddening of the tips of Derek’s ears as the doctor looks down at him. “That movie…I would really like to go with you…if you would still have me.”

And there’s that heart-stopping smile of Derek’s that never fails to melt Stiles into a puddle of insensible goo.

“God, _yes_.”

This time it’s Derek who presses against the back of Stiles’s neck and pulls him in for a gentler, slower kiss. It’s nothing like anything Stiles has experienced before. It ignites something inside of him, something primal, and their lips move in a synchronized dance, cautiously and then insistently.

Stiles can hear his own heartbeat thundering in his chest and when Derek’s palm moves to settle on the side of his neck, thumb brushing back and forth against his carotid artery, Stiles hopes that Derek can feel it too.

Stiles also really hopes that Derek knows that's all because of _him._

**Author's Note:**

> This might be a series, depending, but I don't really know yet. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Title from song: [Stereo Hearts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T3E9Wjbq44E) by Gym Class Heroes


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